Don’t mind these words,
Oh please, disregard this message.
If you’re reading, please reverse,
This isn’t real, just disengage.

There’s a pain in my head that feels so real,
It’s a special kind of feeling like no one should feel.
It feels like I think I wanna die, dear suicide.
It’s just ghosts, spectral phantoms of my mind.

I’m not actually in trouble.
No, I know that I’m capable,
Been here before, done that, I’m stable,
It’s just the cords in my neck, like cables.

It’s all iron and rust and grit and steel,
I’m not hard edges, but oh how I feel,
Like a thousand sharp knives carve into me,
Crushed from every side, sharp corners, suicide…

Again, it’s just gears flaking off rust,
It’s dirt in the eyes, old creaking disgust.
Figments and lies, mine, betrayal of trust,
Marrow threatens to oxidize, heart of,


To which I’ll return, but not yet,
To which I’ll return, but not yet.


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